


Wake Me Up

by thedeathchamber



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Morning Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeathchamber/pseuds/thedeathchamber
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Waking up with Sherlock was fantastic, of course, but waking up with Sherlock and then having sex was bloody amazing. </p><p>__</p><p>John reflects on his mornings before and after Sherlock. </p><p>*whispers* (Before You Go Go)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Me Up

 

John woke up but kept his eyes closed. 

The room was a little chill in the early morning but he was warm and comfortable except for a touch of hunger and a bit of stiffness in his shoulder. 

John was used to waking up with a start; from restless sleep to total alertness in an instant. The shrill siren as good as a shot of adrenaline. It became familiar. Opening your eyes to a world that tilted and shook every time an explosive went off.  The rush of blood pounding in your ears as loud as the background noise of machine-gun fire and shouting. The mouthful of sand-dust with the sourness of sweat when you took that first breath of what could be the last day of your life. 

After Afghanistan John never liked to microwave popcorn because he could relate to the corn: tossed around in the heat and the noise until it was _done_... It was a silly notion that had come to him in a poetic fit and really no more than a fancy cover-up for the fact that he always managed to burn the popcorn. 

Sherlock didn’t like popcorn anyway. (He didn’t like food that had a tendency to get stuck between teeth and he didn’t like the noise of the microwave... or the vacuum or the washing machine.) So John ditched the bagged snacks altogether. The bone-snap sound of biting into a carrot or celery stick didn’t bother him, and neither did Sherlock’s habit of dipping a finger into the hummus while pretending not to watch the movie.

John didn’t wake up with a start anymore, except for the ever more infrequent nightmare, not even when Sherlock got up in the middle of the night to argue with the skull on the mantelpiece over a case or decided to move the furniture around (and then put it back in its place). 

And Sherlock didn’t snore; though his breath was audible when he slept. John would drop off to sleep while Sherlock tossed and turned more often that not, however, so it would never have been a problem. In fact, in the morning the sound of Sherlock next to him was as much of a comfort as the warmth and heaviness of his body against his own. So John had little opportunity to watch Sherlock fall asleep, but he had the pleasure of watching him wake up on a regular basis. It was really a rather ordinary affair, other than the fact that it was Sherlock, and that made all the difference. 

John opened his eyes, turned on his side and raised himself up on an elbow.

Sherlock was still fast asleep: breath sibilant between parted lips and cheek lined with the crease of his pillow so that John knew he must have just turned around to lie on his stomach, with his left hand under the pillow and the right curled into a loose fist under his jaw. 

John touched the back of his fingers to Sherlock’s elbow and up his arm to his shoulder. In addition to a basic knowledge of the solar system John could name about eight constellations- and find maybe three on a clear night- but he could chart the freckles on Sherlock’s skin with his eyes closed. Now and then John allowed himself a measure of pride for his extensive (and intimate) knowledge of Sherlock Holmes... but most of the time it just made him cringe.

Except there was nothing that could compare to watching Sherlock come around in the morning, unguarded and slowed down for once. Languid and mellow enough for John to smooth the hair away from his face and linger: tracing the delicate shell of his ear and luxuriating in the velvet smoothness of his earlobe. Sherlock closed his eyes again with a sigh while John pressed a kiss to his temple and the angle of his jaw and the knuckles of the hand gathered under his chin. One corner of his mouth lifted, he found John’s hand and clasped it to his chest. 

John nipped the bare skin of his shoulder, rubbed his cold toes along the back of his calves. 

“You’re insufferable in the morning.” Sherlock said into the pillow.

John huffed with laughter, nose buried in Sherlock’s tousled hair. “Am I?”

“Mhm.” Sherlock rolled onto his side, squinting at John. “But then again, you are a romantic.”

John smoothed the sheet over Sherlock’s hip down his thigh. “That’s generally considered a good thing, you know.”

Sherlock slipped his hand under the sleeve of John’s T-shirt, his thumb grazing the scarred tissue on his shoulder. “I was making an observation, not passing judgement.”

John shook his head and leaned forward; Sherlock untangled his fingers from the shirt and gripped the nape of his neck to bring them closer. 

“You have an opinion on everything, you tosser.” John said, looking down at Sherlock who grinned in response, still a little flushed with sleep and heavy lidded.

He had to bend down to kiss him again: slow and gentle with lips only just parted. 

Sherlock’s hand slid from his neck down his back over the worn cloth of his T-shirt. He hooked two fingers on the waistband of John’s pajama bottoms. “It has no detrimental effect on our relationship.” he pronounced.

“Glad to hear it.” John said, smiling. He relished Sherlock’s quivering breath when John pressed his lips to his neck and dragged his tongue over the transition between smooth and unshaven skin. Sherlock’s knuckles dug into the small of his back as John grabbed his ass and pulled him tight against him.

“John.” Sherlock stuttered, squeezing his shoulder before pushing him away, climbing over him and sprinting off to the bathroom. 

“Sherlock!?” John called after him.

After a moment he let himself fall forward, face-first into the mattress with a groan of frustration. Waking up with Sherlock was _fantastic_ , of course, but waking up with Sherlock and then having sex was _bloody amazing._

“Don’t be dull, John.” Sherlock said. 

John opened an eye to stare at Sherlock, standing by the bed in the nude and half aroused. John blinked then scrambled to sit up while Sherlock rummaged in the drawer. “You got up an hour ago to relieve your bladder.”

“Right.” John agreed, distracted when Sherlock straddled him. “You could have just said you needed to use the loo, though.” 

Sherlock scoffed. He thrust the lube into John’s hand.  “I need little preparation after last night.”

“OK.” John buried his hot face against Sherlock’s chest. “Good. That’s good.” 

“If you feel incapable, I can prepare myself.” Sherlock added when John dropped the tube on the bed next to him to just touch him instead, running his palms over his thighs and kissing his chest. 

“Are we on a schedule I didn’t know about?” John quipped, reaching for the lube. 

Sherlock put his arms around his neck, breath warm and humid in the crook of John’s neck. “Don’t try to be amusing in the morning, John. It’s appalling. ” 

John chuckled, slipping his hand between Sherlock’s legs. He traced the rim of his hole with a slick finger and pressed down on his perineum. 

“I’ll take that to mean you think I’m funny the rest of the time.” John said, pushing in his middle finger.

“I’m not surprised. It’s not unusual for you to arrive at an erroneous conclusion.” Sherlock’s voice shook as he straightened, splaying a hand over John’s chest and gripping his shoulder with the other to balance himself as he rocked his pelvis. 

“Need some work on the dirty talk, Sherlock.” John groaned. The wet heat surrounding his fingers and the friction of Sherlock’s cock against his own, even through the material of his pants, was making it difficult to think.

“Hm. You find my voice arousing. I could say anything.” Sherlock’s lips moved against the thin skin of his neck. “But you seem to favor when I state the obvious, such as that I want you to fuck me right now, John.” he breathed into his ear.

“ _God_ , yes.” John groaned, his hips bucking even as he let his fingers slide out of Sherlock, who knelt next to him and pulled off his T-shirt. Once John had wiggled out of his underwear, Sherlock put his hand on him, thumbing the head of his cock and spreading the moisture down the shaft. 

“Lie down.” John said, squeezing tight at the base of his cock, brow furrowed. He moved to lie behind Sherlock; palming his balls and rubbing his hole, slipping just the tip of his fingers in, until Sherlock was whimpering. 

John let out a long exhalation as he pushed into him. He held Sherlock close and thrust, slow and deep, with the rapid beat of Sherlock’s abdominal aorta under his palm and the quick expansion of his ribcage against his chest with every stuttering breath. Sherlock bent his arm back to touch his face and John kissed the tip of his fingers, quickening his thrusts. 

“Fuck, _Sherlock_.” John moaned, mouthing at his shoulder and wrapping his hand around his cock. Panting, Sherlock pushed back against John and into his hand until he stiffened and came with a shudder. 

John touched the base of his cock where it disappeared into Sherlock’s quivering hole with slippery fingers, chest heaving. He found his release a moment later, breath rushing out of him, a moan catching in his throat. 

“Good?” John asked when his heartbeat had slowed, kissing the prominent vertebra at the top of Sherlock’s spine as he pulled out.

“Excellent.” Sherlock mumbled.

John grinned when he caught the slight curve that remained on Sherlock’s lips after he yawned. In his post-orgasmic state he didn’t even bother trying to school his face into something less embarrassing. A little drowsy and relaxed, he decided to use his discarded pajama pants to wipe them both off rather than get up. 

Once John was settled, with an arm thrown over his waist and his head resting on his chest, Sherlock pulled the sheet over both of them. 

“Half an hour, John. I’ve got work.” Sherlock said, his chin digging into the top of his head. 

John breathed in the scent of his skin and listened to Sherlock's heart beat slowing down, steady and quiet. No screeching alarm or smothering, echoing silence. Just Sherlock and the first stirrings of London outside, getting ready for the game to begin. 

In spite of everything, he could never regret anything that had come before, that had made him who he was now, that had led him to this... to Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes. 

John closed his eyes and went to sleep. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't quite sure how explicit and detailed to make the sex, concerned with having the piece feel disjointed... Thoughts?  
> Anyway. All in all, utterly self-indulgent (I will probably come to regret the excess of romance, but there you go), but hopefully other people beside me will enjoy this.  
> Also, pardon the title.


End file.
